I liked coffee. David always had a pot brewed in the morning when he left for work. He obsessed over it, worshiped it. Back in grad school, David said he'd subsist off of at least five cups a day to get through the drivel. It started as a little taste here or there. "A cup of milk with a little bit of coffee?" David would ask. "Coming right up!" He loved that I asked him how his hermetic brewer worked; It was like an antique typewriter, dusty and metallic with various individual buttons to press and levels to pull. A bout of steam shot out here or there. It was a puzzle in and of itself. The fun came from trying to figure it out.
I learned to like the taste of it after a while. I liked to test which creamers and which sweeteners would work best for my palate. David drank dark roast most often without adding anything. On his days off, he'd usually brew up something a little more artistic; a latte or some espresso delicacy.
I drank the coffee Dr. Crowe gave me black. It's warmth nestled in-between my palms. The scent was enough to draw my thoughts away from the chaos of last night.
Dr. Crowe sat across from me in my hospital room. He sat relaxed, leaning on his left arm in one of the satellite chairs next to my bed. His own cup sat across from him, already half-drunk and as light as caramel. It smelled like it too.
"Supposedly I hadn't run into you on the elevator this morning, should we have expected your absence today as well? If you are really so determined to leave, I can inform the nurses of your leave."
My cheeks flushed a little, embarrassed. He laughed like an old crow.
"You needn't look so dejected, Monty. We aren't a jail. You are free to leave anytime you'd like."
My shoulders sagged.
"Though, we would have to inform David of your absence. He seems like one of the go-with-the-flow types. A real nice guy. But that caseworker of yours?" He laughed again. "She's got spirit. I doubt she'd be as lenient."
"You're telling me," I sighed. I remembered the flushed expressions she made as she scolded me. I knew her intentions were coming from a place of concern, but something about it made me feel bubbly.
"She's right, you know? Running around, delaying your recovery will only push things back."
"But…I can't just stay cooped up in here," I said, gesturing to the empty room. "I feel like I'm going crazy. I had the craziest dream last night."
"Dreams can tell us a lot of things," Dr. Crowe said. "They are often the clearest way we can understand ourselves."
"Is this the pediatric therapist talking or the cardiologist?"
"Why not both? Speaking both from the heart and the mind. Why don't you tell me your dream?"
I stared at him, eyebrows raised in skeptical intrigue. It wouldn't hurt. I didn't want him to think I was crazy though.
"A girl. She chased me through the hospital. Like a ghost or—or some kind of phantom."
"Chased? Why do you think she was chasing you."
"I—I don't know. It's dumb." I avoided his eyes as I said it.
"I'm not a quack if that's what you're thinking. Oftentimes I find it easier to carry difficult thoughts if there's someone to carry them with."
"Did you come up with that yourself?"
"No. My friend said that to me actually. He runs a poetry club at the university he teaches at. Our alma mater."
"Same friend who you became a cardiologist for?"
"One in the same. Though I can hardly say I became a cardiologist just for him. If I'd had half a brain, I'd have chosen to go into something less nightmarish for poor med school Crowe." He chuckled to himself, thinking of the long and grueling years he endured. His nostalgic reminiscing reminded me of David in a way. Always so stuck in the past. Maybe that was why he liked the museum so much.
"Now, onto your weird dream," Dr. Crowe said as he took out his stethoscope. On instinct I helped guide him and the 'scope to the right spot. He placed it right above my heart and listened. "In what way were they weird? Did you find yourself distressed?"
"Well, I dreamed about a girl…"
Dr. Crowe nodded his head, as if he already knew what I was about to say.
"Hm, yes. Those tend to be the scariest kinds of dreams," he said with unapologetic sarcasm.
"Hey it's not…no not like that," I stammered. I explained the dream to Dr. Crowe as he did a routine check up. His face remained sterile, almost lost in thought. He had other things on his mind. Another patient? Or rather the more likely, he probably thought my story was simply uninteresting. Only a nightmare dreamed up by a broken kid. Given how professional and competent he came across, I doubted he had nightmares.
"What do you think?" I asked when I finished.
"It's definitely distressing. That's for sure," he said thinking. "A real heartstopper."
I sighed.
"If you want my real thoughts on the matter. I think you need to rest."
Figures.
"But," he added, "maybe you have some digging to do." He pointed to his head. "Up here. There's still so much we don't know about what's going on in our brains. We tend to err on the side of caution when telling people what their dreams mean. That being other medical professionals and I. Child psychologists in particular will tell you that. Sometimes, though, we often find ourselves leaning toward the answer, whether consciously or not. I think you know deep down what your nightmare meant, Monty. Maybe it's even real, in a sense. Just an extension of something you're feeling deep down."
He placed his stethoscope away.
"Looks like you're doing fine. Watch the energy drinks for now though."
"But, you…" I glanced toward the coffee.
"Coffee's the exception. It's all about moderation kiddo."
I snorted.
"It's true," he said adamantly. "It's got some kind of healing properties in it."
" 'Some kind of?' ", I parroted.
"Ha, I'll see you a little later Monty." I smiled at him as he left the room, the same clipboard under his arm as before. Hopefully not… As soon as the coast was clear, I sprung out of bed. I slipped on some slippers a nurse left out and made my way towards the hallway.
Maybe I shouldn't make a habit out of sneaking around the hospital. I might get some weird looks. Or someone could recommend me to the psyche ward.
I made sure to wait until Dr. Crowe was just out of sight, then I slipped outside the room, though I doubted that any of the nurses would do anything about me walking around on my own. That one nurse, Nurse Sharon, seemed to be pretty adamant about me staying in bed. I should probably keep an eye out for her, or Dr. Crowe, while out and about.
The last thing I wanted was to make them worry.
I started to investigate the hospital wing I've found myself staying in. It's a long corridor with plenty of rooms and closets overflowing with medical equipment. I glanced through windows and doors, keeping an eye out for the girl from my dreams.
I had a hunch that she could be connected to the man on the shore or to that strange box we found. I remembered what it was like to hold it, feel it. It was unnatural, like I was holding something completely imaginary.
It couldn't have been real, but I had to know. It would eat me up inside if I didn't even try to look for her, even if it ended up as a wild goose chase. Even if I got myself in trouble again for putting off my recovery. Maybe I was just wasting my energy. I simply had to know.
Wait.
I stopped in front of a door. Is that… what I thought it was? I had measured that I was only imagining it: the same feeling I experienced back on the wharf. When I had the small black box in my hands. I felt it then too. No, I really could feel it right now outside of this one hospital room, as vividly and real as I did before. In fact, I think I had forgotten it, but now the pressure started to build, ever so slowly and deliberately, and with the awe that I felt those few days ago racing through the rest of my body.
She's here.
My imagination spilled into reality. It seeped out into the hallway, like wet paint that trailed across a white wall. Or perhaps it was my dreams, words that lifted off a page. I looked through a window into the room to be greeted by a dim recovery unit, spartan and only filled with the bare necessities: a bed, a curtain, an IV dripper, a stool.
The lights were turned so low that I could barely see her lying in the cot. From where I stood, it just looked like an indescribable mass with no features, no movement, no air of recognition or acknowledgement of my existence. I shifted around, checking to see if anyone was watching me watch her.
Nurse Sharon walked down the hallway, lost in conversation with a peer of hers. She appeared to be in pleasant spirits. I may not get this chance again. I swallowed my anxiety and turned to face her. She noticed me right away, smiled, and said something to her colleague who continued on their merry way.
"Monty, you're out of bed again. If you're looking for the bathroom, you seem to be in the exact opposite direction."
"Huh? No, uh. Ms. Sharon, I wanted to ask you a question."
"A…question?" She laughed. "You can just call me Sharon, the 'miss' isn't necessary. What can I help you with?"
I glanced back toward the room, then back to Sharon. She already knew what I was going to ask before the words even left my mouth.
"What…happened to her?" Real subtle Monty. "I mean, like, is she gonna be ok?" She wanted to kill me? Seriously? It was hard for me to believe that someone in her situation would even think about something like that. She looked like she could barely sit up in bed; there had to be more to her that I didn't understand. And who was he? The person she said who made her do it?
So many questions, I was getting sick of it. Sick of her. I turned back to see Sharon looking at the girl too. Her eyes were somber, her lips were pressed in thought.
"We…aren't sure. It seems the young girl is a victim of one of those AAD's. The ones on the news. Do you know what the acronym stands for?"
I shook my head, trying to recall the explanation I heard on the TV.
"Anomalous Autoignition Discharge?"
She nodded. Sharon remained solemn. Her reflection in the window stared right back at her.
"Poor girl was just walking around the city. She had just visited a friend of hers when she decided to take a walk along the park," she said. "Her mother told us she liked to pick the flowers that grew there. It was a gentleman admiring the flowers with her who ignited. She was caught up in the blast."
Oh…What do I say to that?
"That's horrible."
Sharon nodded again. "I just hope she wakes up soon. Honestly, I was relieved for her when you had. Even if your liveliness left many of us a little worried. You had that poor woman--I think David introduced her as Casey--in a frenzy. But despite the headaches, it gave me hope that she'll be okay. You gave me hope."
She winked through a faint smile.
"Just because I crawled out of my coma? That was enough?"
"Of course. If you could, then she could."
After Nurse Sharon left me to think on her words, I studied the door, and the girls room. A sign outside her door read DHARIA RHODES. Like a cat on a sill, I prowled across the threshold in silence, making sure that no one noticed me going in.
There she was.
She laid down in bed, completely still and asleep. I half expected her to spring awake and deliver some wordy monologue about how she was being forced by unseen hands to bring me down. But she didn't stir. She didn't even blink.
I think a part of me wanted to hurt her for putting me through that hell, but the feeling remained deep down in the bottom of my mind, beneath a layer of sympathy. Her eyes stayed closed, but her hair was a mess. Split ends and oily roots. Scars along her arms broke and looped like tree branches. I could hardly believe she was in my dreams the other night, chasing me through the very hospital wing I too suffered a coma in. We were alike in that way, victims of circumstance.
"I'm sorry, the door was unlocked," I said. I doubted she heard me but I wanted to be sure she wasn't just waiting for me. She didn't respond to the words. I was close enough now to hear her breathing.
"I hope you don't mind me coming in. But I just wanted to see you. Honestly, I hoped I could nip this problem in the bud before something like that happened again. I didn't really see you in my dreams, right? I must have seen you while walking past, or when I snuck out. There's no way you were actually chasing me around my dreams, is there?"
Still, silence. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.
"So that's it then. I just had a bad nightmare, hopped up on energy drinks and anxiety, stressed over nothing. Why do I get the sense that it was real? That I didn't just imagine it?"
Oh well, I'll see tonight. Won't I?
Beep!
A heart rate monitor beeped. An anomaly caused the steady rhythm to fluctuate. Paranoia gripped me like it had during that time a few days ago. I was so sure of some kind of dread that it almost forced me to do something I didn't even really want to do. Now, I'm sure of it. She was connected to that day, I was sure of it. The stranger, the AADs, the nightmare, my parents. It was all connected. But how?
"I'm going to figure this out, and make sure no one has to go through what you did," I said. But was that meant for her…or for me?